Lust for Vengeance

by Katsura

  "And he waited for you? That whole time while you were in prison?" Mikhail finally felt that he could speak and that he wasn't interrupting.

  "He did." Fergus nodded. "I wouldn't let him visit me. I was too much of a big guy with a big reputation to have him come and sit there in the visiting area and try to kiss me or something, but I called him once a week. So you see, I don't love him, Mikhail. I never loved him. I think that he was obsessed with me, and for a while I was caught up in the whole idea of him, maybe even the novelty. But I never loved him."

  Mikhail really didn't believe in love anyway, so that statement was no surprise to him at all. But he did think that people could be duped into feeling that they were in love.

  "But he loves you?" He sat up a fraction and stroked a comforting hand along Fergus's arm.

  "No, I don't think so." Fergus shook his head. "If he ever loved anything it's that dog of his. But I think he is obsessed with me, and like I said, he is very possessive.

  God knows what he would do if I divorced him. His family disowned him when he married me. All he really has is me and the dog."

  Mikhail sighed. It certainly hadn't been the excuse that he had expected to hear, and he thought back to the young man that he had

  seen

  being

  thrown

  so

  unceremoniously out of the party. He actually had looked to Mikhail like a typical rent boy who had gone out in his best clothes looking to turn tricks for his next meal. "That is very sad." Mikhail entwined his fingers with Fergus's. "For both of you."

  Fergus nodded and slipped back under the covers again, laying his head against Mikhail's chest. "It is." He said the words with little emotion then reached across and turned off the lamp.

  Chapter Five

  In the movies, when it came to selecting a place to organise a job it always seemed to be in a nice club somewhere or even a fancy hotel suite where the guys would be wined, dined and entertained as they plotted whatever business had brought them all together. So how come whenever Fergus wanted to call a planning meeting with the boys it always had to be in this draughty dump of a lock up out in the arsehole of nowhere?

  Summer had turned to autumn, and the bitter cold in the air threatened a severe winter. There were so many warmer and more hospitable places that Judas would rather be right now, but it had been a while since he had been invited to do something more exciting than mundane extortion. In recent times hijacking delivery trucks had been about as good as it got. Fun and lucrative. But like anyone hoping to move up the ladder in his chosen profession, he longed for something like this to sink his teeth into. He had to hand it to Fergus, the man had balls and ambition.

  Judas put out the bottles of whisky that he had brought with him and looked about for glasses. They had used this lock up many times in the past, mostly because of its remote location, and he was sure that there were some glasses about here somewhere.

  He searched in a little cupboard next to the door but to no avail, and then he remembered that they were stored down in the basement next to the toilets. Although it was a small lock up, it had both a basement and a cellar. Few people ever ventured into the cellar as quite frankly the stairs were too dangerous. If the glasses had been down there with the spiders, Judas would have insisted that everyone just swigged from the bottle. He went down the basement stairs smartly and grabbed a couple of tumblers before going up again with them clutched against his chest.

  Gangsters were never really good at clearing up after themselves, and no doubt the glasses were still dirty from last time, but Judas saw himself as a bit of a boss now and was damn sure that he wasn't going to be the one to clean them.

  The state of the glassware was almost irrelevant, however, when he nearly dropped them as he got back into the room, surprised to see Mikhail Majewski standing there, bundled up against the cold in a fine white fur coat.

  "Can I help you, Mr Majewski?" He used his formal tone of voice as he was so taken aback to see Mikhail here in the place that Fergus had designated for the planning of Operation Withdrawal.

  "Oh, I am to meet Mr Campbell here. I take it he has not arrived yet?" Mikhail looked down at a rather grubby looking chair then clearly decided against sitting on it.

  "Naw, he will be here soon, though."

  Judas put the glasses down and filled them with whisky, not really confident that the refined Mikhail would want to drink out of anything so grimy. "Are you sure that he meant you to meet him here? I mean, it's not very comfortable here."

  What Judas really meant was that Mikhail shouldn't even know that this place existed. They used it to plan jobs, store loot and goods before they moved them on and on occasion to dispose of people who had gotten to be annoying or of little use.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe the poor brothel keeper was about to be bumped off and was standing there in all of his finery, well dressed for the occasion. Judas felt a pang of regret if that was truly the case.

  He liked Mikhail. He was a decent sort, but if Fergus had decided he was going to go then go he would. There would be no persuading him otherwise. Judas passed Mikhail a large measure. If this was going to be his last drink, at least it was a quality one. Judas really knew a good whisky when he saw one, and this was a fine island single malt. If he ever was in a position to choose a final drink for himself, that would be right up there on the shortlist.

  "Thank you." Mikhail took the drink and seeing the way he had looked at the chair, Judas went over and wiped it for him. He may as well be comfortable.

  Mikhail smiled and sat down, elegantly crossing his legs, and Judas stood by the window watching for the arrival of Fergus's

  car.

  When

  he

  saw

  the

  approaching headlights he made his way right outside and stopped Fergus in his tracks before he could come into the lock up.

  "What's your game, Fergie?" Judas pushed him in the chest and hissed at him, his voice little more than a whisper. "What's Mikhail Majewski doing here? You doing him in? What the fuck has he done to you, eh? He is a decent guy, and if you expect me to do it you can think again. He has let me in his place even when I forgot my wallet. Who else would trust a crook like me? Naw, you'll have to do the dirty work yourself this time."

  "Oh don't knot your panties, Jude." Fergus smiled and pushed Judas away from him, leaving his fingers on his chest as he waved his other hand under his nose.

  "You been bathing in the Dirty English again?

  And

  naw,

  no

  one

  will

  be...uh...doing Mikhail in as you so sweetly put it. Not unless they want a bullet in the back of their head. He is a useful contact and I value his input."

  "The fuck he is!" Judas said furiously.

  "You think I am sitting in there with him planning a fucking bank robbery? Well you are sadly mistaken. Fuck sake, man, he has cops in that place every night. How do you know he won't blab to them?"

  Fergus laughed and pushed past him before he walked on into the lock up.

  "And where is that trust you so valued a moment ago, Jude? Tut tut."

  When the rest of the boys arrived, promptly as this was Fergus's job, they all sat about in a loose circle, and it was clear to Judas that he wasn't the only one there to find Mikhail's presence a little unnerving. The normally jovial Vinny was eyeing Mikhail with suspicion, and he kept looking at Judas as though expecting some kind of explanation from him. Judas wasn't going to offer any. This was Fergie's idea and Judas was keen that everybody knew that so he never got the blame later if it all went tits up. Ewan seemed to accept Mikhail's presence without question, though he was never much of a thinker, and if Rasputin found it strange it was difficult to tell as his face was still so badly bruised and swollen from the other night's fight that not many emotions registered there other than pain.

  Fergus sat with a superior expression on his face and he turned to
Rasputin, who had taken a cigarette and was forcing it between his puffed lips, and he said firmly, "You'll need to smoke that outside."

  Judas gawped across at Fergus and held his hand out, palm down to Rasputin, urging him to stay in his seat. "You are not fucking serious!" Judas laughed and pulled out a packet of cigarettes in obvious protest. He tossed one to Vinny before lighting one up for himself. "There is no fucking way we are going out there for a smoke. We'll get soaked and we could miss something important. You know me.

  I'm a two packs a day man and my ass is staying in this chair unless I'm getting up for a drink or a piss." He stared across at Fergus defiantly, smoking the cigarette in what he hoped was an obvious challenge to combat over it.

  "Just do as you're told and be a good boy."

  Fergus narrowed his eyes and it looked as though he was going to take Judas up on that offer of a fight until Mikhail leaned forward with a smile.

  "Please, if this is on my account, I am a smoker myself. I just usually smoke menthol."

  Judas interrupted him, leaning forward too and he blew out a great cloud of smoke from between his wide lips. "No offence, Mikhail, but I don't care if you smoke shit or old rope. This is about us coming here, like we done so many times before, and then all of a sudden Mr Big here who has been out the picture for a good few years now is pulling rank?" Judas shook his head slowly and looked over at Fergus.

  "Not on my patrol, baby. We done plenty of jobs while you were away, Fergie. Me, Ewan and Ben here."

  "Ben?" Vinny looked over at Mikhail, clearly assuming that Judas referred to him. Rasputin nodded his head curtly.

  "Me, but I've grown to prefer Rasputin,"

  he growled.

  "Ah." Vinny nodded and looked back to Mikhail again.

  "Jobs? And just what kind of jobs were they?" Fergus laughed. "What was the last job you were on, Jude? Do enlighten us and impress us with your CV."

  Judas lifted his chin and stared at him but remained silent. He knew what Fergus's sarcasm alluded to and wasn't going to give him the chance to gloat. But from the look on Fergus's face, he appeared to be going to gloat anyway.

  "Aw...shy are we?" Fergus now grinned.

  "Don't be modest, Jude. As far as I understand

  it

  you

  are

  almost

  singlehandedly responsible for flooding our dear wee country with knock off hand bags and trainers. Now that is some achievement." He clapped his hands together in a slow round of applause in Judas's direction.

  "Come on, guys, let's hear it for Jude. The man who has made it possible for every wee junkie and crack head around to swan about feeling just like Paris fucking Hilton. Judas MacGregor...the equalizer."

  "Funny," Judas smirked and Vinny looked down at his feet with a fake look of disappointment.

  "Fuck sake! So these aren't real Nike then?" He pressed his shoulder to Judas's shoulder. "Ya fucking cheapskate!"

  Judas laughed and sat back in his seat languidly, his head tilted to the side with cheek. "Yeah well at least your ma can carry her gin about in style now, Fergie."

  Fergus stiffened somewhat, but the grin stayed firmly on his face. "Well, Jude, I know that this is a step down for a man like yourself but I'm back now. This is my job, my rules, and if you don't like it you can fuck off. My way or the highway, as it were." He looked smug and also sat back in his seat. There was a confidence to his expression that riled Judas as it was clear Fergus presumed that he would not be going anywhere. True, Judas was vain.

  This was a no brainer. As was the obvious assumption that for him to maintain his flash appearance required a great deal of money--money that a job like this could easily offer--but despite these facts, Judas got to his feet.

  "Well then, gentlemen." Judas smiled and lifted his chin, one hand on his hip, and he blew a smoke ring. It travelled up and dissipated towards the bare light bulb that illuminated the proceedings. "I will take my leave. Good luck to you all. You're gonna need it." He waved his hand in a flourish, like some dramatic farewell.

  "Fuck no!" Vinny got to his feet too looking aghast. "If Jude goes I go."

  Now Fergus stood up. His chair creaked as it slid back across the floor, and he looked utterly incensed. But before he could say a word, Mikhail spoke in an unexpectedly confident yet still calm voice, and everyone in the place turned to him with surprise.

  "It seems to me that all of you are here for your own specific expertise." He smiled and looked around at all of the brutish expressions that were caught in mid-flight.

  Then he got up and approached Judas, laying his hand gently on his arm. "Mr MacGregor, I have watched you often, the way you talk with the boys. They all adore you and I am sure that if there is any persuasion to be done, you are the man for the job."

  Judas let his features soften and he smiled, nodding slowly. Mikhail then walked across to Rasputin, who had remained seated with his unlit cigarette still between his lips.

  "You, sir," Mikhail grinned and lit the cigarette for him, "I saw you fight Cain.

  You are so brave and utterly fearless. I think such daring must be a wonderful asset in this line of work."

  He then turned to Vinny, who was watching

  with

  what

  seemed

  like

  anticipation, perhaps wanting to know what the stranger would consider his strong point to be. "Vinny isn't it? That is a sweet name." Mikhail looked into Vinny's eyes. "I consider myself to be a good judge of character, and you strike me as someone who is very loyal. And also you have such a nice smile. I think that anyone who worked with you would feel comfortable in your presence. You can be trusted."

  "And I make people laugh." Vinny spoke in an amused voice and the others laughed, confirming his statement.

  Judas walked closer to Vinny and placed his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You got him just right, Mikhail.

  Everyone trusts Vinny." Judas smiled.

  "And

  you!"

  Mikhail

  laughed

  and

  addressed Ewan, who sat impassive and silent. "I don't think anyone would mess with you, sir!"

  They all snorted at this, even Ewan, and he nodded. "Yes, I tend to scare people off. Even with a ski mask on."

  Mikhail then stood close to Fergus and looked around at them all, his expression unpretentious. "So it seems to me that you are all required for a successful outcome, and I am sure that Mr Campbell would prefer that you all stayed. And he is not so much the boss, but just think of him as the one who organised everything and the one who knows the most about this particular job."

  Everyone then turned to Judas, apparently for his approval on Mikhail's appraisal of the situation, and Judas once more stared at Fergus.

  "Yes that is more or less it." Fergus smiled and nodded, impressed at how Mikhail had diffused the revolt without the need to spill any blood. Meetings like this did often end in fights and sometimes even in deaths, but he really wanted Judas in on this job, not so much for any expertise that the other man had, but there would be simply no point in doing it without him.

  Bringing Mikhail along had been the right choice. It had been a last minute thing, but more and more Fergus was beginning to see him as if not yet an extension of himself, then certainly his right hand man.

  "So." He rubbed his palms together. "Let's just all sit down again and get this show on the road."

  The rest of the meeting went the way these things often do, with Fergus laying down a clear set of well-thought-out plans while everyone else seemed only interested in the cut. Normally this would have pissed him off, but it was no big deal and he indulged them so that at the end of the night everybody knew roughly what was expected of them and what they would receive as a reward for their troubles.

  Job done. Or almost done.

  There was one more person who was going to be briefed on the specifications of Operation Withdrawal, but he was bus
y right now filling in paperwork. The bane of every police officer's life. Even the corrupt ones.

  * * *

  Policemen always tended to drink in the worst dives imaginable, and the man who sat in the corner looked about the place with an expression of disgust. It was filthy. Shady looking and filthy. The kind of place where low life scum would come to peddle cheap dope and knocked-off gear and the cops would turn a blind eye to all of it.

  As though proving this fact two young thugs held up jackets and showed them to an older man who after passing what looked like a couple of piddling notes to them, rolled up the jackets and placed them in a bag at his feet. It was amazing. It seemed that no one really cared about what anyone else was up to as long as the right back got scratched.

  But still the man in the corner had to be careful. He had chosen the most secluded booth and was wearing a dark coloured hooded top, the hood pulled up to obscure most of his face and the cigarette in his hand obscuring the rest. Again, no one seemed to care that his hood was up even though he was indoors, and he barely attracted a second glance. The cigarette tasted strange to him, but it drew less attention than what he normally would have smoked. After a short while another man entered the pub, dressed in a cheap suit and an even cheaper raincoat, and he went straight to the bar, ordering two drinks and paying for neither.

  Detective Inspector Wilson was a man who had never been happy in his work.

  He had risen quietly through the ranks of the local constabulary but knew in his heart that detective inspector was really as good as it was going to get for him. So with a high-maintenance wife and a very spoiled daughter to please, he had resorted to taking bribes. He was not the first of his kind to do this, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. Mostly everyone took a back hander at some point in their career, from a bottle of good whisky to turn a blind eye to an after-hours party or a free blow job from a hooker who couldn't afford the loss of earnings that another night in the cells would bring.

  Then there were little more lucrative tasks. Like the one that he had been invited to undertake. His reason for being here this night.